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The Girl from a Thousand Fathoms, Chapter 73 – Sunrise

Two men in a boat, nothing to see here. Oh no. Next week I should have some exciting – exciting for me, anyway – news about the print and ebook editions. Until then, have great weekends, and enjoy.

Chapter 73 – Sunrise

Troy knew he was lying on his back but he couldn’t remember
where. Either the sky was moving or he was. It had to be him, shifting from
side to side, rising up and down.

Salt water splashed across his
face.

It all came back in a rush: The
struggle to launch the boat, frantic and inexpert he had rowed away from Sea
Cucumber as she slid beneath the waves. Then the fight against the sucking
vortex of descending water while Koponen frantically baled water and roared
with terror.

Jarglebaum jerked upright. Tim
was out there, he’d seen him across the tilted deck as he and Koponen launched
the lifeboat. He worked one oar and turned the boat, an open craft about twenty
feet long, and pulled back to where the ship had foundered. He rowed into a
white ocean, the surface covered far and wide by sodden ruined seeds. A flotsam
of splintered wood, rope, plastic bottles, empty lifebelts floated among them.

Pain tore at his shoulder, back,
legs and arms from Imelda’s punches kicks and bites. He refused to give up, Tim
was still out there. A grey tunnel slowly closed around the edges of his
vision. He drifted until his sight cleared, then rowed again, circled, drifted,
rowed again. All the time looking, refusing to give up. Never would he give up.

He searched for a time he
couldn’t measure. It could have been minutes, it could have been years.

One of the oars was wet, it slipped
from his grip. He sat looking at his hand, unable to understand why his whole
arm ran red.

Sunrise was some time off though
the sky was lightening. Waves of pain and dizziness came and Jarglebaum passed
out.

‘Stay still.’ Koponen held something cold to his forehead. A
rag pad soaked in seawater. ‘You’ve lost a bit of blood.’

‘A bit?’

Koponen smiled thinly. ‘Some.’

Troy’s head lay towards the stern.
Koponen sat behind him with his hand on the tiller.

‘I don’t remember…’ Troy’s head
swam and he slumped back with a groan. How had he even got into the boat?

Koponen put a water bottle into
his hand. ‘Drink this.’

Troy gulped the water down,
suddenly terribly thirsty. Everything swirled, his stomach surged and he had
just enough time to get his head over the side before he vomited.

Jesus, I’m a mess, Troy thought
as he watched his puke swirl away into the sea. The bite on his shoulder burned
like it was on fire, so did the one on his arm. Gingerly he pulled up his shirt
sleeve and winced at the state of his forearm. He’d seen human bite marks and they
were nasty, bestial things. This one didn’t look like that. Each black and
purple puncture still wept dark blood, the outline of the bite a wide
triple-row of wounds.

He felt himself sliding away
again and fought it. He needed a real drink. He wanted to tell himself his
memories of the last hours on the ship were part hallucination, that Imelda,
Electra and Dolores hadn’t done the things they had done. That they hadn’t
changed into weird monstrous walking fish and dived into the sea. That they
hadn’t killed so many men.

Christ, he felt rough. He
wondered if the bites were poisoned or if it was simply because Imelda had
beaten him flatter than hammered shit.

Koponen lashed the tiller into
position. ‘There’s bandages and disinfectant in the locker. Take your shirt off
and I’ll clean you up. These lifeboats have radio distress beacons. I’ve turned
ours on.’ He looked haunted. ’We’ll be OK.’

‘Sure thing. Down but not out,
that’s us.’ Troy winced as he shrugged out of his ripped shirt. After your
first cracked rib you learned to recognise the pain.

Koponen cleaned Troy’s wounds. ‘These
are nasty but the bleeding has nearly stopped. Your arm is going to be stiff as
hell but I don’t–’

Something bumped against the underside
of the hull. Both men froze.

The sound came again: quiet,
testing.

Koponen carefully pushed himself
to his feet and hefted one of the oars. He stood astride the beam of the boat,
balanced, watching, waiting. Not this boat too, his whole attitude said. Not
today.

Slumped against the side wall
Troy looked up at the slightly built older man. Imelda ripped me apart, he
thought bleakly, what chance do you have?

Not even sure he could stand, let
alone wield something as heavy as an oar, Troy decided to stay where he was.

The bump came again, heavier,
actually shifting the boat. A stealthy scratching, scraping sound moved towards
the stern.

Troy’s hands were shaking. There
was a cubby hole in the prow packed with survival equipment. He rummaged
through it looking for a weapon. No way was he going out without a fight.

Markus raised the oar over his
head. ‘Here they come.’ He sounded very calm.

Metal glinted. Troy snatched it
up and turned just as Markus sighed with relief and lowered the oar. ‘It’s just
wreckage.’

Drenched in sweat, Troy looked at
what he held in his fist. Koponen dropped down beside him and drew up his
knees.

‘This was all I could find,’
Jarglebaum said.

Koponen looked at what he held
and chuckled. ‘A pair of tweezers.’ His laughter grew and grew, then turned to racking
sobs.